"Miss Kendall!" called Craig, bending down close to the door.
"Is it you, Professor Kennedy?" came back a faint voice from the other side.
"Yes. Are you all right?"
There was no answer, but she was evidently tugging at something which appeared to be a heavy piece of furniture braced against the door. At last the bolt was slipped back, and there in the doorway she swayed, half exhausted but safe.
"Yes, all right," murmured Clare, bracing herself against the chiffonier which she had moved away from the door, "just a little shaky from the drugs—but all right. Don't bother about me, now. I can take care of myself. I'll feel better in a minute. Upstairs—that is where I think that woman is. Please, please don't—I'm all right—truly. Upstairs."
Kennedy had taken her gently by the arm and she sank down in an easy chair.
"Please hurry," she implored. "You may be too late."
She had risen again in spite of us and was out in the lower hall. We could hear a footstep on the stairs.
"There she goes, the woman who has been hiding up there, Madame—"
Clare cut the words short.